


The Case of the Curious Kitten

by mydogwatson



Series: Postcard Tales II [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Meeting, Fluff, M/M, No kittens were harmed, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 06:36:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7256398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydogwatson/pseuds/mydogwatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is on a case and has no time for idiots.  Or kittens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Case of the Curious Kitten

**Author's Note:**

> Well, first I must apologise because this story rather got away from me because I couldn't stop. If you have even half as much fun reading it as I did writing it, that will be wonderful.
> 
> After I finished, it occurred that this is rather a companion piece to a story from the first series of Postcard Tales, The Case of the Howling Dog.

Sherlock Holmes was most definitely not in the mood to deal with any foolishness.

Well, he never did have much patience with the idiocy of most humans even on his best days, but especially not at a time like this. He was in the middle of a case, one that was actually interesting for a change, and there was absolutely no time for this.

‘This’ being, of all things, a complete stranger sitting high in a tree right in front of the house on which Sherlock was conducting surveillance. “I have no idea what you think you’re doing up there,” Sherlock said. “But you have to leave. Immediately, if you please. And if you don’t please, leave immediately anyway.” He spoke softly, so as not to attract any attention. Well, any more attention than was attracted by a bloody idiot perched in a tree, with his [really rather short] legs dangling above the pavement.

“Would love to,” the man said far too cheerfully given the circumstances. “But, one, I have not yet completed my mission so I really cannot go. And, two, there is the added complication that the Range Rover I used to boost myself up here has departed.” He gave a soft almost giggle. “I don’t fancy breaking a leg by jumping down. Especially since I already have a limp.”

Sherlock finally noticed the ugly metal, government-issued cane that was propped against the tree trunk. “So you’re already handicapped and still decided to go climbing onto Range Rovers and into trees?”

“One Rover. One tree. And, as I may have forgotten to mention, one kitten stuck up here.”

Sherlock glanced towards the house; luckily the windows were still empty. “Is it your bloody cat?” he muttered.

“Uh, no. More of a dog man myself. But I heard it crying and couldn’t resist.” He grinned in a way that was probably supposed to be charming. “Used to be a boy scout, so…”

The damned thing was, Sherlock thought irritably, the grin _was_ rather charming. Then he dismissed that as totally irrelevant and annoying. “And a soldier, yes, I know,” he said. “But I don’t care about any of that.

The silly man in the tree looked surprised. “How did you know I was a soldier?”

“Obvious.” Sherlock tried to harness a tiny bit of patience. “It might interest you to know that there is a serial killer living inside that very house and how am I supposed to catch him when there are idiots in trees attracting attention?”

“Well, again, only one idiot, actually. That would be me.” He lifted one hand from the branch he was clinging to and gave a brief wave. “Hello, John Watson here. The kitten and I are both stuck, so not sure what you would like me to do.”

Sherlock sighed.

“Hide,” Watson said suddenly.

“What?”

“Get behind the tree. Someone just opened the curtain in the third window from the left on the first floor.”

Sherlock slipped behind the tree into the shadows. “I would have noticed that myself,” he complained. “If you hadn’t distracted me with all that talk about cats.”

“Sorry.”

There was a pause as they both watched the curtain fall back into place and the light go off. Sherlock stayed where he was and leaned against the tree.

“So,” Watson said. “You’re a police officer?”

“Good god, no. Whatever gave you that idea?”

“Well, I guess it was the whole ‘catching a serial killer’ thing. Although it is true you don’t look like a cop. A little posh, in my opinion.”

Sherlock snorted.

“Is this a hobby, then?”

“Of course not. I am Sherlock Holmes, the world’s only consulting detective. When the police are too stupid to solve a case, which is usually, they call me in.” He straightened just a little. “I invented the job.”

They watched as the rest of the house across the road went dark. When Hampton emerged for one of his killing nights, he always left the small foyer light on. But when it was extinguished as well, Sherlock sighed. There would be no attempted murder tonight then, no chance for him to swoop in and solve the case.

He shifted back to the front of the tree. “The killer has gone to bed,” he said, “so I’ll be on my way.” He looked upwards and grinned. “Shall I ring the fire department? I believe that lost waifs stuck in trees fall within their purview.” 

Watson sighed. “Don’t you have a car? If you would---”

“I am not an idiot, so, no, I do not keep a car in London.” He paused thoughtfully. “Could call my brother, perhaps. Except that I never call him because he is an interfering git.”

“Then we are at an impasse,” Watson pointed out.

There was a long pause, as Sherlock stared at the house, although there was nothing to see, as he thought of what to say next, because, frankly, he was enjoying this ridiculous conversation with John Watson more than he had enjoyed talking to anyone in a long time. Maybe forever.

But before he could say anything, there was a sudden and unexpected movement from the shadows and then a tight arm was wrapped around his next and there was a knife at his throat. “Mr Holmes, you have become an annoyance to me and my family.”

He recognised Hampton’s voice. Apparently the idiot had failed to notice that Sherlock was conversing with someone else. People never---well, perhaps this was not the time to think about that. “I do apologise,” he said hoarsely. That arm was really very tight.

“Luckily, you will not be around much longer to bother anyone.” Hampton shifted his feet slightly, preparing to move back into the darkness with Sherlock in his grip.

Abruptly, there was a noise from above. Hampton tipped backwards just a little to to look upwards, and then something slammed into them both. Sherlock was suddenly free and he rolled away from the knife. He lifted his head and saw John Watson on top of Hampton, struggling over the weapon. Sherlock rose, reached for Watson’s cane and swung it at Hampton’s head. The man went limp and fell against the ground.

Watson managed to stand, testing his leg.

“You alright?” Sherlock asked, using his purloined cuffs on Hampton.

“Surprisingly, yes.” He gave a little bounce to prove it.

Sherlock pulled out his phone and texted Lestrade to come collect a killer. “That was good,” he mumbled after ending the call.. “That thing you did.”

Watson shrugged. “Boy scout.”

“And soldier,” Sherlock pointed out. “Oh, doctor, as well.” All of which struck him as admirable and useful attributes in a… colleague

“You keep doing that.” The quiet words from Watson were said with something---admiration?---that Sherlock was not accustomed to hearing.

He shrugged. “It’s my job.”

The sirens got closer and then Lestrade showed up. There was the usual lecture about setting off on his own, the usual babble about procedure, and after far too long a time, it was only the two of them on the pavement again.

Sherlock ducked his head and then glanced up. “Dinner?” he suggested.

“Starving. Chinese okay?”

“I know a place.” He handed over the cane. “You don’t really need this, you know, Watson.”

“So they say. And it’s John. But, Sherlock, the kitten is still in the tree. We should have asked the officers…”

“Pah.” Sherlock stretched up, grabbed a branch, and hauled himself into the tree. Within a few moments he was back on the ground, a small grey kitten in his hand.

John reached out to touch the soft fur. 

“You want it?” Sherlock asked.

“Uh, no, as I said, a dog person.”

“My landlady will have it. She is the sort to take in strays.” He settled the kitten in his pocket. “Speaking of which, I need a flatmate to share the rent. And you hate your bedsit.” 

“Hmm,” was all John said as they set off in search of a cab. Neither of them mentioned that the cane was being carried, but not used. 

Sherlock turned up the collar of his coat to hide his smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Title From: The Case of the Careless Kitten by Erle Stanley Gardner


End file.
